Full Circle
by V.M. Bell
Summary: She never liked him much as a child, and she never liked him much through school either, but Narcissa Black discovers that sometimes the most unlikeliest of people can become soulmates. LuciusNarcissa.


**Full Circle**

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were young, hardly four or five, trapped and oblivious in an atmosphere dominated by overbearing adults and their bloodlines filled with glory, war, and lust. She wore her pretty golden robes – the ones reserved for special occasions only – with a large pink bow flowing behind her, and she was gnawing on her lower lip. Her mother lightly slapped her on the shoulder. "Don't bite your lip like that," she hissed.

"Yes, Mother."

"Do not slouch, either."

Narcissa stiffened her shoulders. "I won't." A house-elf approached to her with a tray laden with carefully arranged sweets. She shook her head, knowing Mother would never let her so much as sniff one. Narcissa tugged on the older woman's skirts and asked, "Where is Bella?"

"Bellatrix is off with the boys."

"Okay," she said quickly, knowing what Mother would say next had Narcissa given her the chance. _Bellatrix will never make a good wife, that flighty thing. Always running about with hexed frogs and a head filled with spells she oughtn't know. Too absorbed in her talents – and Merlin knows she has so many of them – and her beauty, that girl is._

Narcissa took a tentative step forward and left Mother's side. Skirting submissive house-elves and somewhat tipsy Pureblood witches and wizards, she headed towards an empty chair tucked in the corner of the room, hoping that it would shelter her, in some way, from the festivities. When she finally sat down and felt the hard wooden back of the chair press into her own back, she relaxed. Looking around the room, she found Andromeda, the younger of her older sisters, blushing as Father boasted about her.

"Could outsmart your sons any day, my girl," Narcissa heard him saying. Every night, he had Andromeda recite what felt like hours' worth of spells, although there would still be a few more years before she would attend Hogwarts. Narcissa hadn't a clue as to what those spells were, and as young as she was, she was still receptive enough to deduce they were signs of her sister's unparalleled intelligence. Narcissa didn't know a single incantation. "She'll be going off to Hogwarts in a little while, sorted into Slytherin of course," Father continued.

There was a light tap on her shoulder. Turning away from the spectacle with Andromeda, Narcissa found herself looking into a set of gray eyes, clear and lucid, framed in a narrow face and locks as blond as her own. "That's my chair," the stranger said.

She quickly stood up. "Sorry."

"What's your name?"

"I'm Narcissa." Not sure of what to do, she executed a small curtsy, feeling her feet wobble. The stranger did not smile. "Um, what's yours?"

"I meant what your last name is."

"Oh, that," she exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Black. Narcissa Black."

"I'm Lucius Malfoy."

With that, he lowered himself onto the chair, and Narcissa was obliged to stand, wondering if she should ask Bella to perform a few of her jinxes on him.

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were still young but older, locked in a compartment together on the Hogwarts Express. Her sisters had left at the beginning of the ride, telling Narcissa that they would be meeting up with the Lestrange brothers. Narcissa wasn't sure what that translated into, only that the name Lestrange had been mentioned by Mother in conjunction with a few letters that she had discovered in Bella's room.

"You haven't changed into your Hogwarts robes yet," Lucius pointed out.

"We just left the station. It can wait, can't it?"

He looked bored, disinterested, his sight fixed on the gradually diminishing London. "It can, of course, but wouldn't you be happier if you weren't in those Muggle clothes?"

"Well, yes, but I don't feel like changing right now. Why do you care? They're not your clothes, anyway."

"I can't stand the sight of them," he sighed. "I didn't think you could either. They're terrible."

Narcissa kneaded her forehead, impatient for the time when she could simply hex the boy away. "Can't you leave me alone?"

His answer was blunt. "No."

Slytherin house, she figured, would be very unbearable if Lucius were to act like this for the next seven years.

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were growing, working together in their third-year Potions class. She hardly spoke a word to him, except when she needed a dash of beetle eyes the recipe required her to have. Now having known him for a few years, Narcissa found him disconcerting, whether it was the way he carried himself, so entitled and regal, as if Hogwarts were his fiefdom and he the lord of it all, or the way he would stare raptly when he spoke to someone, proving with a simple glance his superiority over all. He wasn't the only one who acted such – Bella was another – but could anyone else be so subtle, so calculating about it?

She would never admit it to herself, but maybe she was just a bit frightened of him when, in all else, others were frightened of her, her name, and her lineage.

"Narcissa, were you listening?"

"For Merlin's sake, you don't have to be so sharp!" she said, wiping away the sweat that had formed below her hairline.

"Were you _listening_?"

"If it would please you so, Sir Malfoy, I wasn't."

"Well, you're doing it all wrong. See this?" Lucius ladled a dollop of potion into a glass tumbler nearby and swirled it in front of her eyes. "It is much too watery. You clearly forgot to add something."

She frowned as he poured what was in the tumbler back into the cauldron, falling with a great _plop_. "Fix it, then, and show me how to do it, since you appear to have mastered it."

"You're right. I have mastered it, and that is why I don't have to do it. You should fix your own mistakes," he drawled, crossing his arms.

Narcissa glared at him. "This is a group assignment, Lucius. Why couldn't you have told me this earlier?"

"You weren't listening, Madam Black. See how we've gone full circle?"

"Oh, shut up or I'll hex you," she whispered, her patience snapping.

"I know for a fact that you would never hex me. We can correct this potion together."

She fought the temptation to spit in his perfect features. "You arse."

"Be nice, and don't swear. Now, where you went wrong is you forgot to add enough flobberworm mucus to keep the potion thick. And perhaps you stirred it too much?"

Narcissa whipped out her wand, placing the point at his chest. "You can only patronize me so much, Lucius. Do not forget that I was brought up a Pureblood too, and a Black at that."

He raised an eyebrow. "So the kitten has claws."

"The kitten isn't afraid to use them either, if you cared to know."

"Miss Black, is something the matter?" the Potions professor asked from the front of the room. Several pairs of eyes turned their way. "Why do you have your wand pointed at Mr. Malfoy?"

Lucius lightly pushed Narcissa away, who nearly fell into the cauldron. "Just a slight disagreement, Professor."

"I'll kill you, Malfoy," she spat when the professor turned away.

But he paid no attention to her threat, for when she next looked at him, he was reaching for his store of flobberworm mucus, measuring out the prescribed amount, and pouring it into the cauldron, where it was greeted with a billowing sheen of steam. Rolling up his sleeves, he reached for the ladle and stirred once, twice, and again and again until he appeared satisfied. He turned to face her, and it was the first time she had ever seen his immaculately groomed hair out of place, his face marred by something other than a sly grin or cocked eyebrow.

"That ought to get us a passing grade," he told her, walking off to wash his hands.

Narcissa found that there was nothing she could say. Despite it all, watching bumps appear on Lucius's arm as he ran his hands under what must have been very cold water, she smiled.

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were maturing, nearing the end of their fourth-year, strolling to Hogsmeade together. She had unhooked the clasps of her robes, and they billowed out behind her. The light spring wind whipping through her loose hair, she felt a great freedom, knowing that she was more than halfway through with her Hogwarts education. Lucius was walking next to her, his hands tucked in his pockets, absolutely silent.

She didn't know why he had bothered asking her to join him on the last trip of the year of Hogsmeade as he knew perfectly well that she was dating – and quite seriously – one of the Averys a year above her. Alas, she also didn't know why she had complied, but he had asked her in such an unpretentious, un-Lucius manner that refusing it would have been cruel of her. In any case, they were friends – or whatever term one would use to describe two people that knew each other and yet did not. What his motives were, though, she could not discern. And so Narcissa decided to find out.

"So, Lucius," she began, "why did you ask me to go to Hogsmeade with you?"

"For the same reason you accepted my offer, I would guess," he replied, unusually enigmatic.

She mulled over his answer. _For the same reason you accepted my offer_. "Pardon?"

He only smiled at her, and she decided to leave the subject alone.

When they arrived at Hogsmeade, she spotted Avery, clutching his stomach and laughing at something his friend had probably said. Lucius tugged at her sleeve, asking if she would like to go to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. Heart racing, she looked from one to the other. Her senses deserted her. She threw her arms around Lucius, whispered, "I'm sorry," and without looking back, ran over to Avery, where she was greeted with a long kiss on the mouth.

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were hardened, on the Hogwarts Express, Hogwarts bound, for the fifth time. She was alone, her only company the tears rolling down her face, the handkerchief clutched in her hand, and the prefect's badge pinned on her robes. Narcissa checked her watch. Ten more minutes until she would have to patrol the train and stop ambitious second years from planting Dungbombs in front of the bathrooms. Ten more minutes she had to pretend like nothing had happened.

There was a click from her compartment door; it slid open. Lucius, clad in his Muggle apparel, was leaning against the doorframe. Fitted in a forest green sweater and khaki pants, Narcissa noticed how tall he really was, but through her moist eyes, she could hardly see anything.

"Is something the matter? Surely being a prefect can't be that mortifying. I would think your parents would be very proud of you."

"Oh, it's not that," she sobbed, slumping against the window. "No, no, it's not."

After closing and magically locking the door, he took a seat next to her. "Would you mind telling me what it is?" he asked, his voice caressing.

"Does it even matter to you?"

He laughed. "Narcissa, I thought we were past the why-do-you-care stage. Of course it matters to me."

"He broke up with me, that bastard!" she swore. "He told me he loved me, that maybe he would ask for his parents' permission to marry me in the future."

"Avery?"

"Who else would I be talking about, Lucius? Oh, God, why am I even telling you this? You don't care, this has nothing to do with you, I know it was all too good to last, and I – "He put a finger to her lips. "Dammit, Narcissa, of course I care. All of these years, who else has cared but me? You only chose not to notice."

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it, don't you? Sneering at me, telling me my wandwork is sloppy, laughing at me whenever you feel you can…oh, Lucius, I hate you. I hate everything about you, how bloody perfect you are, how you act towards others – towards me! You're always so arrogant and you never refuse a chance to tell people that they're wrong and you're right and…" She exhaled deeply. "Well, have you anything to say to that?"

He looked every bit amused, but Narcissa sensed the smallest bit of hurt beneath his placid veneer. She hadn't known that her words would cut so deeply, yet hadn't that been the intent behind them? To make him bleed and scar so she would know that he, too, was human?

Lucius looked away. "Well, Narcissa, if that's how you…if that – if that's what you think, then what else can I do?"

He pulled her towards his chest, one hand running through her hair, the other resting on the small of her back. She couldn't resist. Rubbing her forehead against the softness of his sweater, something within her swelled, swelling until it burst forth in a great swirl of confusion and tears and the wheels of the train clicking and clacking against the steel rails that led straight to Hogsmeade, where she had so unceremoniously left him last year, and it all boiled down to one question: why was she in the arms of the one she had just professed to hate?

Lucius was whispering, whispering words she neither heard nor understood, only knowing that his face was as stormy as it had ever been.

"You know I won't apologize for who I am," he said.

Narcissa laughed, and for the briefest moment, forgot a man called Avery had ever existed. "I never asked you to."

Then he kissed her, bringing her face up to his, gaze never leaving her own, as their lips met, so simply, so plainly, that Narcissa went limp, forgetting all as he baptized her anew. Lucius pulled back and looked at her, her blue eyes intense and clear, teardrops coagulating on her lashes, chest heaving. He tilted his head, as if to ask what he just happened was at all to her satisfaction.

Narcissa glanced at her watch, and suddenly realizing she could very well be late for her prefect duties, started for the door. Lucius placed a hand on her arm. "You're going?"

She took his hand and cupped it to her face. "I'll see you at school, okay?"

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were learning, a touch in a hallway, a surreptitious glance across a classroom. Whenever she looked, he always seemed to be lurking nearby, whether he was passionately denouncing Mudbloods or yawning as he leaned against a wall, arms crossed, and obviously jaded. And – no, she noted, her company hadn't changed him the least or mitigated the less attractive of his traits, but, oh, but she adored it all, every barbed comment lathered in sarcasm, every coldly witty quip, every arrogant glare. Maybe she always had.

There was more to him, though, she found. With each kiss, each brush against her skin, Narcissa discovered something softer, something as elusive as the summer rains but something so ineffable she would recognize it anywhere. It was love, she concluded on one sleepless night. It was love in a sepulchral gloom, love in a night without its moon, but it was love all the same.

Every time he looked at her, she was only the more certain of it.

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were free, released from Hogwarts, from family, and now, from even England. The palpable magic of Ireland was the perfect complement and remedy to the madness her seventh year had wrought: the all-night study sessions for N.E.W.T.s, Slytherin men drunkenly proclaiming their allegiance to the Dark Lord, and the end-of-the-year farewells. Lucius had been very smart, she felt, in selecting Ireland, the pastoral home of druids and long forgotten forms of magic, as the site of their little excursion.

Together they sat atop the Hill of Tara, the seat of kings, as purples and reds and streaks of bluish silver streaked across the sky against a rising moon. Narcissa rested her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. Ireland at twilight. How beautiful, she thought.

"Are you cold?" Lucius asked. "The breeze is quite strong."

"If you're willing to spare me your coat, then, yes, I am cold."

"Narcissa, I'm not going to give you my coat. If you want it, we will have to share."

She caught the glint in his eye and edged closer, placing her head on his shoulder as he brought her into his coat's warm grasp. "Much better."

"Warmer?"

"Certainly." She allowed herself to sit, contented, but there was something that barred her from merely _being_ and enjoying the sparkling chill that had settled in. "Lucius?"

"Yes?"

"I confess that I've been meaning to ask you about something important."

"Why, I have something to ask of you as well," he chuckled, "but go ahead."

"What will we do now?" Pulling herself away from him, Narcissa stared at the darkened horizon. "Hogwarts is finished; we'll never go back. That means – well, it means we can't really dally with each other any longer. We're both going to have to, in some way, move on, I suppose."

"How strange. That has been weighing heavily on my mind too," Lucius said. "You are right: our school days are gone. I was wondering, Narcissa, if you might like to bring them back."

She shook her head. "Lucius, I don't understand."

"This should clarify."

In his palm lay a dark velvet box. With a jolt, Narcissa stiffened her back, her muscles instinctively tightening. "No, Lucius," she whispered. "It isn't."

"Open it." She held the box in her own fingers, its hinges reflecting the last vestiges of dying sunlight. "Open it," he repeated.

Trembling, she placed her thumbs against the lid and pushed. "Oh, God, Lucius."

Was it the very essence of the stars she was looking at or a diamond set in a band of gold? Narcissa couldn't be sure, for out of the box emanated a glow that eddied and swirled, scintillating on its own accord, facets that pulsated with a liquid light. Holding it up to her eyes, she saw something engraved on the jewel. She felt its grooves beneath her fingers.

_NM_.

Without saying a word, she looked back at Lucius and smiled. And Narcissa knew that he understood.

When Narcissa Black met Lucius Malfoy, they were silent, lying next to each other in the muffled environment of a canopied bed. The formalities concerning the marriage between both families had been settled; the wedding itself would not be long off. Narcissa could hear the November rain falling in vertical sheets against the roof of the Malfoy Manor, but otherwise, the darkness was as lifeless as it was thick. Restless, she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

His voice startled her. "Narcissa?"

"I didn't think you were awake."

"Did I wake you?"

"Oh, no. I just couldn't sleep. I take it you couldn't either?"

Lucius rolled himself over onto his stomach, propped up on his elbows. "I was thinking."

"Just thinking?" Narcissa said, leaning over to kiss him. "About what?"

"You don't need anymore flattering than what you're already getting, but yes, I was thinking about you. I was thinking about what it will be like and what will happen afterwards."

"After the wedding?"

Sighing, he sat up. "Well, what do you want to happen?"

She laid her head on his shoulder. "I want a large party, like the one Bellatrix held her own wedding. I want dancing and drinking, and we'll invite both of our families and our old friends from Hogwarts. It will go on until very late, when we bid our guests goodbye and the sun is due to rise in a few hours. Then you'll take me, the new Mrs. Lucius Malfoy, upstairs and to your bed, and – "

"I never knew you could be such a romantic, m'dear," he chuckled.

"Well, you know it will turn out that way, whether you'd like it to or not. It's the way weddings work."

"Go on, though."

"What do you mean?"

"I will take you, the new Mrs. Lucius Malfoy, upstairs to my bed, and what happens next? Tell me. This intrigues me greatly."

"You already know what happens next!" she exclaimed, blushing.

"But I want to hear."

Narcissa massaged her throat, wondering how she had gotten herself into such a quandary. She swallowed once, twice, but the tight feeling was still there. "You'll…you'll draw the curtains, blow out the candles, and close and lock the door," she murmured, her voice cracking. "Then you'll take everything off – everything off of me and everything off of you."

"Are you a virgin, Narcissa?"

"Would you be utterly horrified if I told you that, yes, I am?"

He drew her closer to him. "You've never been…intimate with another man?"

"There _was_ Avery." She squirmed underneath Lucius's touch. He would not let go. "When we would be snogging in empty classrooms or in the Slytherin common room when no one else was there, he would, you know, touch me in certain places…but, no, we never did anything more than that."

"Narcissa, would you like to change that?" She let his hands run up and down her sides as they finally rested on her hips. He kissed her, his tongue thrusting in and out, and his lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of moisture, until they met the neckline of her nightgown. "Do you want me to change that? Do you?"

"Yes," she said, and he resumed kissing her. "Make me yours, Lucius. I want you to love me until I can't take any more of it."

He tore her nightgown off and tossed it to the side. Narcissa straddled him, aware he probably thought her a harlot, his slut of a little Pureblood wife-to-be, and that she felt like one of those "loose women" Mother had always prided her daughters on not being, but, oh, desire coursed through her and she wanted nothing more than him in her against the stillness of night and early winter showers. As their pale bodies met, as her maidenhood stained the bed covers, Narcissa had never felt so loved, so liberated, so perfect in her entire life.

When Narcissa Black Malfoy met Lucius Malfoy, they were older, and much older, or at least that's what she acutely believed every time she turned her eyes on their baby son, Draco. Still recuperating from the pregnancy, Narcissa leaned against the crib, watching as her – no, _their_ son slept in impeccable baby silence, his body hidden behind a sky blue blanket.

"Draco, you are so cute," she spoke into the crib, even though she knew Draco hadn't a clue who his mother was, let alone what his mother was saying to him. Narcissa found a deep and gratifying comfort in talking to him. She enjoyed entertaining the idea that, years from now, when Draco was grown, he would recall her standing over his baby form, telling him over and over again that she loved and cherished him. "Mummy's going to hold you now, okay?"

She reached into the crib and cradled him in the crook of her arm. She brushed her lips past his soft forehead; he stirred and opened his eyes. It never stopped surprising her how much of a mirror image Draco was of his indomitable father, Lucius: the gray eyes and an insatiable need for everything were the qualities that immediately came to mind. At that particular moment, however, he was quiet, his gaze focused on his mother. Narcissa nearly broke into tears.

There was an opening and closing of the door downstairs. Lucius had returned. "Narcissa?" he called out.

"I'm in the nursery," she called back, taking a seat in the chair that was never moved from its place by the crib. "Come and take a look at your son."

Lucius strode into the room and kissed his wife, who eagerly responded. He then turned to the small bundle of blankets in her arms. "Here's Draco," he said, taking him from Narcissa and lifting him into the air. "How is my boy today?"

"He won't answer you," she laughed.

"Oh, Narcissa, you talk to him too. And much more often than I ever do, I might note."

Lucius hugged Draco, who had gone back to sleeping, to his chest. Narcissa adored watching father and son together – she rarely saw Lucius so tender than when he was with Draco. All of the tensions accompanying his status as a prominent Death Eater and a lobbyist at the Ministry of Magic fled whenever they were in the presence of Draco, too young to understand wizarding politics, too innocent to allow such things to be mentioned. Observing Lucius praise his son for the treasure he was, Narcissa suddenly wondered what should happen if her husband's activities were exposed and he were to be taken away from their small family. A chilled fear gripped her.

"Lucius," she said, her voice pained, "don't get caught. Lie, cheat, and do whatever it is you must do, but never let them find out. Promise me that you won't."

"Narcissa, don't worry. I am much too clever for any of the Aurors to apprehend me, and do not forget about my connections at the Ministry, dear. Should the worst befall us, those connections will save us."

"Lucius, I love you."

He turned his unreadable eyes on her. "I love you too, Narcissa. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I would like to sit down, and that's my chair."

Somewhere the vast expanses of her memory, something stirred, but Narcissa simply shrugged it off.


End file.
